Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would alter the 5th-7th books completely.

1981

The prisoner sat completely still within the prison walls, brooding solemnly. The man was an odd sight, one the guard didn't want to look upon for too long. He refused to touch the little food and drink that was offered, and his health was none the better for it. He was pale; there was no doubt about that. Though the records showed he had only occupied Azkaban for a week, he was already lean and sickly looking, though not one cough or sneeze escaped his sharply angled mouth. Despite this, it was not his body, but his eyes that sent chills down the spine.

The guard was no rookie; he had patrolled the halls of Azkaban for quite some time. He had even seen the infamous Black from time to time, and had witnessed both his and other prisoners' insane ramblings. He had seen men lie dead in their cells for days without anyone noticing, and he had seen more men purposely fight guards or cellmates for the pure purpose of seeking death. He had stared both cruelty and cruel people straight in the eye.

With this prisoner, the guard could not even glance his way without shifting uncomfortably. His eyes were hollow, true, his body was nearly a skeleton, true, but the oddest thing about the man was that he seemed….bored.

The guards were not allowed knowledge about the prisoners, but with the Dark Lord's recent defeat, it was common sense that 99 percent of the prisoners were his followers. This assumption was almost definite if the prisoner was sentenced to be kissed, and from a note outside this man's cell door, he was one of those men.

The day had arrived for the strange prisoner's meeting with the dementor, and the guard was rather relieved. Prisoners were brought back to their cells afterwards, but they usually didn't live too long afterwards. Even if they did, they were merely bodies in a cell, with little breathing and no eye movement. The guard would never have look at the man again.

For hours the guard patrolled that day, and each time he passed the cell, the prisoner remained in the same position, lying back upon his cot, arms behind his head, with a bored expression on his face. The expression was not so much arrogant as it was hollow. The prisoner's face lacked the desperation, depression, or even anger that the others had. The look was inhuman, one that could strike an odd fear in the heart without blinking an eye.

While other deatheaters had joined through promises of money, power, or simply being brainwashed, the guard was convinced that this prisoner and the Dark Lord were one of a kind. Both were inhumane, both cruel, and both deserving their ends.

"Alright, you git, let's go." The guard wasn't alone this time, but with several other guards, and even Mad-Eye Moody. Through their remarks, the guard had concluded his theory of this prisoner and Voldemort being one of a kind. Apparently the man was not only one of Voldemort's closest followers, he was an assassin. His name, his very identity was not known, only that he suspiciously held the wand traced back to several high ranking aurors and ministry members.

"I said, let's go."

"You really need to read paragraph 12." For the first time since he had arrived, the prisoner had spoken. The guard sucked in his breath, but Mad-eye Moody didn't say a word, but merely stared expectantly at the prisoner. The prisoner stared back.

"I said, you really need to read paragraph 12."

"We don't give a bloody rap what you say, when we say let's go, you go." Mad-Eye gave an annoyed look at one of the other guards, but the prisoner shrugged, and stood up submissively.

"I'm not insane, if that's what you're thinking. Mentally unstable, perhaps, but not insane."

"That's what they all say." He was bound by magical ropes and handcuffs, and led away, the original guard in pursuit. The kiss was a sentence rarely given, even with the overflow of deatheaters into Azkaban. Black himself was sentenced for life, and the Malfoy, who was widely known for their connections to the dark lord, was released due to "the unforgivable influence".

Death wasn't something to be admired, but it was certainly an important matter, and one that some of the more sadistic guards yearned to see. As for the original guard, he merely wanted to ensure that the creepy prisoner would actually meet his end.

When they at last arrived in the execution room, the temperature drop was noticeable, as was the immense feeling of dread. The depressed atmosphere was always present in Azkaban, but never more so then in the direct presence of a dementor. Beneath its black hood, the demented beast turned to face them, and the prisoner.

"Will you submit your name?" Mad-Eye's voice was gruff. The guard wouldn't have been surprised if the unknown deatheater had killed some of Mad Eye's close buddies.

"Malcolm Cullen Kemp." The guard raised an eyebrow. On all previous occasions, this 'Kemp' had refused to answer all questions asked of him. Mad Eye looked just as cynical.

"Malcolm Cullen Kemp, do you have any last words?" At this, the gaunt prisoner merely sighed.

"You really do need to read paragraph 12." Mad-Eye rolled his eyes, as did the guard. As cool as the brunette was, he certainly was bloody mad. The dementor was motioned to step forward, and so he did.

As the cloaked monster drew closer, the guard shoved his hand in his pocket, and quietly unwrapped a piece of chocolate. The prisoner took notice of this, and stared at the sweet with an odd look upon his face. The guard smiled, waved the sweet in the air for a moment, and then promptly shoved the comforting food in his mouth, relieved at the bit of a relief it brought. The Kemp's reaction to the taunt wasn't what the guard was expecting.

Kemp yawned.

The majority of the witnesses in the room shifted uncomfortably, and the guard felt slightly relieved that he was not alone in his perception of Kemp.

Despite Kemp's strange reaction, the guard felt anything but boredom. The tenseness within the prison walls was apparent, and even Moody looked on anxiously. The dementor drew closer to Kemp, its breath visibly coming in contact with the prisoner's face. Kemp's face remained as stone, but he held his breath. Even the most fearsome of deatheaters fear the kiss… The guard's thoughts were broken off, the dementor's hood falling back. Kemp's face became distorted.

He was being kissed by the most hideous and vile creature the wizarding world had ever known.

As quickly as that moment came, it passed. The moment Kemp's face began to distort, it immediately snapped back to normal, and the dementor rapidly turned its face away from the deatheater, releasing a chilling shriek. The audience, bewildered, looked at the fleeing dementor, and then back at Kemp. He was alive, no, he was better than alive. He was smiling.

"Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans: Paragraph 12. You should really read it sometime."

Author's Note: Just a thought that came to mind. I wrote this late at night and published it without editing it, so advice on its weak points would be much appreciated. Brownie points to those who figured out what just happened.

I didn't have to put Moody in there, but I needed an authority figure, and it was getting pretty tiresome to vaguely refer to figures. (The guard never does get a name…) Moody was convenient. Cynical as he was, I wouldn't be surprised if he suspected Kemp's "condition" all along.